The Last Wolves Howled
by Thinkingaboutnothing
Summary: Mactyra Boarding School is one of the most prestigious and expensive schools in the world. Students are, as a rule, exceptional. Exceptionally talented, exceptionally intelligent, or preferably both. The school is willing to overlook all manner of circumstances provided a student is sufficiently gifted. Which was lucky for Isabella Swan. AU.
1. Chapter 1

Dad drove me to Mactyra in the black sedan we'd rented at the airport. Mom was in the passenger seat, having made the long flight from Arizona to show her support. Phil had felt it best that he show his support from afar. I was sorry for the man, I really was, and I didn't blame him for distancing himself from this freak show. He'd probably been apprehensive when he heard his hot, older girlfriend had a sixteen year old daughter. That said sixteen year old was a freshly convicted felon probably triggered 'Back away slowly' signals in his pea-sized, baseball-shaped brain.

Actually, convicted was a strong way of putting it. There was enough evidence to convict me but I wasn't going to be charged with anything, what with my being a minor and such, as long as I didn't repeat my mistake. Mistake here being the operative word for 'hacking into top secret US government files and accidentally setting off one of their security systems'. I had dutifully promised never to do it again, and I meant that. My days of setting off security systems were behind me. From now on, I was going to disable the damn things before I hacked in anywhere.

Dad kept shooting me funny little looks in the rearview mirror. He wasn't coping with the whole situation, as Renee delicately put it, at all well. I think he would have preferred if I'd started dressing in black, dyed my hair and pierced miscellaneous parts of my body, or even started smoking and riding a motorbike, maybe indulged in a little petty theft. At least then he would have known how to act. It could have been categorized as adolescent rebellion and there would have been a clear way to proceed. As things were, I sat harmlessly in the backseat of his car, dressed in the clothes of the good daughter who made the honor roll and never put a toe out of line, indistinguishable from that girl in all aspects but one. I possessed a shiny new criminal record, the kind the police file under Treason. I personally think that classification is a little unfair. A lot unfair, actually. I looked up treason on whatever random website came up first on a Google search, and my impeccable source informed me that the definition of Treason was:

Treason.

noun (also high treason) [mass noun] the crime of betraying one's country, especially by attempting to kill or overthrow the sovereign or government.

I had to object to that term being applied to my case. Nothing would have come of my brief foray into confidential and highly sensitive material if I hadn't carelessly overlooked one virtual tripwire.

The car wound through layers and layers of dense forest. It had been miles since our last sighting of a signpost and the road was progressively becoming less like a road and more like a trail. My iPhone sat on my lap, carefully monitoring the internet connection strength. We were up the side of a forsaken mountain - I wouldn't put it past these people to be living without basic electricity. I was also keeping a surrepitious eye out for telephone lines. The SatNav announced directions every few minutes, in a voice which inspired homicidal thoughts, and Mom would hurriedly rehash everything it'd said in an almost more annoying voice. Dad hadn't yet made any comment and it was going on three hours since we'd all loaded into the car. I was impressed. Doubtless all those fishing trips had honed his patience. He seemed to not even hear the ruckus in the seat next to him. He just kept watching me in the mirror, looking disapppointed, angry, conflicted and bewildered with expressive puppy-brown eyes.

Mom and the SatNav were shouting, each scrambling to be heard over the other and my iPhone screen suddenly flared to life, having found a strong signal at long last. The road took a startling uphill turn to reveal, over the tops of lush green trees, a glimmering, marbled, iridescent silver-white-blue lake brushed across the earth before a magnificent, towering castle of a building. I couldn't have said how old it was; certainly the oldest building I'd ever seen in my life before then, older by far than any building in the US. It was different from any other old buildings I'd seen. It wasn't a mausoleum or a rotting testament to bygone days. Mactyra was

breathing, still living. It embodied all the history it had seen, but it was still fiercely part of the now. It took my breath away. All the splendor and beauty of Pemberly married to the shadow and mystery of Northanger Abbey.

The black sedan pulled up before the huge carved doors uncertainly, like Dad doubted he had the right to park his car in so imposing a driveway. I shared the sentiment. We all sat like vegetables in our seats, awed and out of place, and I don't like to think how long we might have sat there if the doors hadn't opened and a remarkably handsome man in his mid-twenties hadn't made his way down the wide stone steps to the car.

"Mr and Mrs Swan, I presume?" He asked politely, shaking my father's hand and my mother's. He was tall, taller than my father, but he was young, his face unlined and warmly tanned, his pale blond hair falling attractively over his forehead and into his bright, smiling blue eyes. His accent was well-bred and elegant, but the warm, friendly edge around his vowels corrected anyone who might think he was English. The kindness in his eyes, and the aura of wisdom and benevolence surrounding him reminded me of Dumbledore. If Dumbledore had been a lot younger and undeniably hot.

"Ms. Higgenbotham these days." Mom said coyly. "But please, call me Renee."

I suppressed the urge to gag with practised ease. Dad lacked such practise, and so looked faintly disgusted as he introduced himself. "Charlie Swan."

The blond man smiled good-naturedly. "I'm Dr. Cullen, the headmaster here."

Both of my parents looked surprised. I felt smug. I'd really hit the nail on the head with the Dumbledore thing.

"You're very young." Mom purred. Dr. Cullen looked like he was trying very hard not to hear her suggestive tone.

"Mactyre School has been run by my family for generations." He explained. "I'm aware it's unorthodox nowdays."

"Unorthodox sorta describes your whole set-up here." I said, drawing the good doctor's attention to me for the first time.

"You must be Isabella." He greeted warmly, reaching to shake my hand. His grip was strong and firm, but not challenging or aggressive. "I've heard great things about you."

"You can't have been talking to the FBI then." I joked. "They have nothing good to say about me."

Beside me, Dad winced. For some of us, it was apparently still too soon for jokes. Dr. Cullen seemed to appreciate my attempt at humour though.

"Do you have any delicate equipment?" He asked. "Or can I have the staff bring up your luggage?"

This surprised me, but I tried not to let it show. I hefted my laptop bag. "I'll bring this, but I suppose your staff can handle the rest." What little of it there was. Most of my clothing had been deemed unsuitable for Irish weather, according to the guidelines on the school website.

"Wonderful." Dr. Cullen gestured up the steps and led us into the school, my mother's eyes trained on his ass and my father's raised to Heaven. He launched into the obligatory spiel about the world-class education I'd be receiving, assuring my parents that after three years at Mactyra I'd excel in my SATs, or the Irish Leaving Certificate, or any exams I felt like taking, as well as guaranteeing me my choice of the top universities in the world. I trailed after the trio, admiring the stone carvings outside the doorway and the rich tapestries in the front hall. We walked deep into the school before we encountered any other students. Despite the setting and the pale grey uniforms they all wore, there was a air of informality about. A few students seemed to be hurrying to classes but most lounged around the corridors, talking idly. They all nodded respectfully to Dr. Cullen as he passed and I received more than a few curious and appraising stares. I felt like should be bearing a sign that read 'Fresh Meat', not that it wasn't already obvious. My jeans and sweater, rumpled after the long flight, felt particularly inadequate in contrast to the sharp blazers and pleated skirts of the Mactyra students.

"The Computer Labs are that way, Isabella." I looked up to see Dr. Cullen pointing down a hallway. "But I won't give you the tour just now."

"Why not, Dr. Cullen?" My mother's disappointment was poorly concealed.

"We allow other students to show new arrivals around." Dr. Cullen said. "It gives house-mates a chance to get to know one another."

"House-mates?" I asked. He fell into step with me.

"Yes, sleeping and general living quarters - dorms, basically - are separate buildings from the main school, though naturally still on school grounds. If you'll follow me, we should reach your house in a few moments." He quickened his pace slightly and my parents fell a little behind.

"How many students in a house?" I asked. I was relieved I no longer had to trail after the adults. This was going to be my home, so by my reckoning, my questions were more important than Mom's inept flirting.

"Roughly twenty." He told me. "Twenty-one in your house, I believe. Well, twenty-two now."

I nodded, absorbing this silently. Dr. Cullen led me past a large open courtyard in the centre of the school. The glass dome of the ceiling let sunlight fall onto classical stone benches and flowerbeds in colourful bloom. Mom and Dad followed, walking in uncomfortable silence.

"Your house is for international students." Dr. Cullen continued. Dad grasped the conversation like a life raft.

"You keep international students separate?" He asked, managing to sound suspicious and disapproving with the grace of a born cop.

Dr. Cullen laughed. "No,no. We don't curtail the students' socialising at all. The fact that international students have separate houses is only a coincidence, simply the way the school evolved. Mactyra didn't accept students from outside Ireland until the 1940s."

"That's very late." Mom commented - her first intelligent, coherent statement of the day. Dr. Cullen shrugged.

"We were a much smaller school in those days." He ushered us through an open archway onto a manicured green rimmed by forest. I could hear a sports game somewhere, students calling and the dull thwack of balls, but the playing field was out of sight. Houses sprouted in odd places across the grounds, in a catalogue of styles from various eras, but the strangeness was harmonious. Students were scattered around the grounds, on picnic blankets or sheltered at the base of trees, talking, laughing, studying. There were two boys, a little older than me, fighting over by a clutch of ornamental trees, a group of students egging them on. They weren't just rough-housing, they were actually fighting, using serious martial arts and Matrix-style kicks and leaps. I turned to see Dr. Cullen regarding them with an amused half-smile. He noticed me watching him, and set off across the green towards a jutting finger of forest. I followed, my parents crowding at my heels, to the forest and then along a wide, airy path. The boughs of the trees spread over our heads but the effect was not claustrophobic, more protective. Dr. Cullen didn't lead us far into the woods. The path was short and stayed in the shallows of the forest, close to the school itself. It was too narrow for a car, but spacious enough to easily fit three people and the light was bright and friendly. There was a little birdsong from the trees, but the area was too clearly inhabited to be home to the wild creatures of the forest. It soothed me. I hadn't realised how ill at ease I was until a few lungfuls of the grass-and-flowers scent calmed my nerves.

The house we came to fit naturally into the woodland scene. I felt it had been there a long time, long enough that the forest was used to it. It blended with the nature around it, rather than carving out a place for itself. Long grass pressed to the walls and ivy crawled along the doorway and around the pillars of the porch. The great imposing stone steps were cracked and bold little weeds poked their flowers through the gaps. The house was old, even if it didn't have the weighty years of the main school. I guessed the style to be Georgian, not that I had the faintest idea of those things. It was beautiful, I thought, and not neglected, despite its weary look. I took an instant, magnetic liking to it.

"Your room is on the fourth floor." Dr. Cullen said quietly as I finished my appraisal. "You're sharing with Rosalie Hale, from New York. She's an excellent student. You two should get along."

"Right." I said, my throat suddenly dry. Dr. Cullen's tone was kind.

"Your parents have to come with me, to sign some documents. We'll leave you to get settled in."

I turned to face him, mouth falling open in horror. I wasn't ready to be left alone in this strange, alien place, wasn't ready to just walk inside this unreal, fantastical house and meet my room-mate with the sophisticated name, meet my other house-mates, who were surely just as uncanny as the students I had seen in the school. I needed my parents, at the very least for a few minutes longer. Dr. Cullen couldn't take them away, not yet.

Before I could give voice to any of this, Mom bulldozed past Dr. Cullen to enfold me in an embrace. "Honey, you have a wonderful time, okay?" She ordered, effusive as always. "We'll come see you at - well, we'll make plans. Email me, okay?"

I nodded into her shoulder. "Bye, Mom." I felt like something else was expected of me, like I should apologise. But I had, many times. I was sick of hearing the word 'sorry' in my own voice, and no matter how much I said it, there was no magical salvage of the situation.

Dad looked at me, and his eyes were so sad that I hated myself. I wanted to fling myself at him, to bury myself in a hug and feel like a six year old, safe in the impenetrable fortress of Daddy's arms. But his aged brown eyes were reflecting pain and all-consuming disappointment back at me, and the unconditional love I wanted to claim was fled. He cleared his throat and spoke gruffly.

"Be good, Bells."

"I will." I promised, fighting the choked-up feeling that was closing my throat. He nodded stiffly, then looked at Dr. Cullen.

"I hope you lot keep the boys out of the dorms." He said, serious as a heart attack.

"Absolutely, Mr. Swan." Dr. Cullen said solemnly.

Dad nodded. He half-lifted his arm, to... I don't know. Hug me? Shake my hand? Wave, even? Whatever it was, he let his hand fall back to his side.

"Bye, kiddo." He said sadly.

"Bye, Dad." I whispered back, because my voice was still hoarse from trying not to cry. But the 'kiddo' made me feel better, let me know that despite everything we were still fundamentally okay. That helped me gather myself enough to turn my back on the three adults as they walked away, and walk bravely through the unlocked mahogany door of the house.


	2. Chapter 2

**Oh my gosh, I got so many follows and favourites for the last chapter. Thank you all so much! Can I ask a tiny, minuscule, negligible favour? It's not that I'm not so, so grateful but...leave a teeny-tiny review this time? Please? Tell you what, if I get even one review by tomorrow, I'll add chapter three tomorrow evening. Again, thank you everyone. **

B-POV

I stepped into a rounded hallway, warmly lit by yellow sconces on the papered walls. The carpet was a thick and mossy green, spread over black-brown wood flooring. A tall grandfather clock stood opposite me, the centrepiece to the room. Dark mahogany tables and cabinets stood against the walls, their long limbs intricately carved and supporting a mixture of polished plaques and trophies, and valuable china pieces. All the decor was like that, schoolgirl pride blended with the tastes of a wealthy old lady. Gilt-framed certificates hung side-by-side with rich oil paintings. I couldn't decide if I liked it or not. It had certain attractive qualities, but I couldn't imagine living amongst this bizarre finery. Also, the entire place could have been frozen in time about halfway through the last century, or earlier. Not for the first time, I wanted desperately to change into something other than my sloppy jeans.

Several doors attached onto the circular room, some closed, some ajar. I certainly wasn't going to barge through a shut door, so that left the open ones. My eyes darted uneasily between the three of them. None looked particularly friendlier than the others. Thankfully, a door banged open, sparing me the decision, and a petite girl in a Mactyra uniform walked through. She had a delicate appearance, seeming almost fragile, like a small bird or an invalid, and her skin was snowy-white, only broken by two spots of excited red on her prominent cheekbones. She was under five foot, her Mactyra uniform hanging loose on her thin frame, and her short black hair stood out erractically around her face. She had an ethereal quality, like a fairy or a spirit. The most substantial thing about her was her eyes. Grey-blue, framed by thick black lashes, they possessed an uncanny sharpness. Again, like a bird. She seemed to be watching everything, seeing everything, missing nothing. Upon seeing me, her eyes narrowed in confusion, then abruptly widened in recognition.

"You must be the new girl." She said, stepping towards me and holding out her hand. Her voice was high and chiming, like small bells. "I'm Alice Brandon."

"Isabella Swan." I introduced myself. She studied me for a minute, clear eyes sweeping over me.

"You're sharing with Rose?" She asked suddenly.

"Rosalie Hale?" I said uncertainly. "Yes, I am."

Alice nodded to herself. "I'll show you up to your room, then."

I was a little taken aback, but mainly relieved. "Thank you." I said gratefully. "I was afraid I'd be standing here until Dr. Cullen came looking for me."

She grinned widely at that, and her doll-like face seemed much more lively. "So you met Dr. Cullen? What did you think?"

I felt my cheeks glow red, and that must have been answer enough. She laughed out loud. Her laughter was surprisingly throaty, not the tinkling sound I had expected.

"He's just edible, isn't he?" She said wickedly. Her former angelic appearance was submerged beneath the mischievous look on her face. I nodded. It was kind of an undeniable fact.

"My mother's blatant appreciation kind of ruined it for me, though." I added. She laughed again. I liked this girl already. She seemed irrepressible.

"My mother was the same." She sympathised. "And my dad was standing right next to her! She has no shame. I don't know what kind of a role model she thinks she is." Alice shook her head. Apparently her mother's antics were a source of amusement for her. By contrast, my mom's behaviour inspired a paralysing horror in me.

"My parents are divorced." I told her. "So it's not so bad, I suppose."

"I know." She said casually. I looked at her. "You know my parents are divorced?" She nodded absently. Was it odd that she knew that? Did Dr. Cullen, or someone, tell her that? I didn't mind that she knew - I'd brought it up myself, hadn't I? - but if the school administration was sharing random details of my life with my house-mates, I was worried. There were things I didn't want people knowing, my reasons for coming to Mactyra, aka my criminal record, chief among them.

Alice walked towards the grandfather clock, motioning for me to follow her. I did, through a different door than the one she'd come in through, then along a long, narrow corridor. One wall was lined with windows facing out into the thick green forest, the other infrequently punctuated by doors. Alice indicated a set of tall double doors as we passed them.

"That's the library, if you're interested. You can get all the books you'll need for classes, plus anything you might need for research. Or just, you know, to read." She glanced over at me. "There're a few desktops as well."

Paranoia gripped me briefly. Something in the arch look she threw me made me suspect she knew why I'd be interested to hear about the desktops.

"The internet connection is best in the library or the main common room. It can be patchy in the dorms, and there's no connection at all in the North Wing." She continued. "It's the oldest part of the house, left over from the original. The rest is made up of extensions, built on over the years."

I nodded along, not really that interested. Did she know? I was most likely just reading way too much into one simple remark, but if she did know...

Flippant as I was about the 'situation', I didn't want it following me across the Atlantic, or earning me a reputation at my new school. Even if I wanted to be known as a troublemaker, there was a level that was cool and a level that was scary. There was a fine line between troublemaker and freak.

Just act normal, I decided. She probably doesn't know. And if she does know, she hasn't mentioned it. Yet. She hasn't mentioned it yet.

"You'll get a good bit of exercise going up and down the stairs everyday." Alice continued, waving a hand at the sweeping flights of spiral stairs taking off from the hallway. The mahogany was slick with polish, and the banister looked more decorative than supportive. Alice set off upwards at a much quicker pace than I was comfortable with. These stairs most definitely qualified for a speed limit. Slippery, narrow, sharp corners, far enough from the ground that major bones were sure to break if you fell. They ticked all the boxes.

Alice Brandon, I noted, was a speed demon. She veered around abrupt corners at frightening speeds, seeming insensible of the danger.

"I swear, I've gotten fitter since I started living here." She called back to me, as we reached the top of the third flight. "And my room's a floor below yours."

"It's actually just down this corridor." She said conversationally, once we stopped at the summit of the stairs. I tried very hard to look like I wasn't out of breath, but I'm not sure I fooled her. There were lots of little clues. For one thing, I couldn't talk because I was so preoccupied with obtaining oxygen. For another, I was bent over, clutching a stitch in my side.

I kept up with Alice as she headed down the corridor, towards the next set of stairs.

"That's my room." She pointed, not breaking her stride. I caught a brief flash of a closed door indistinguishable from every other. "You can come down and meet my room-mate after we put your bag in your room. I think the staff brought up the last of your luggage about ten minutes ago."

For some reason, her statement made me vaguely embarrassed. Blood rose in my cheeks. "I didn't really bring that much."

"Really?" She asked, sounding surprised. "I brought about ten suitcases."

Actually, that fit with the picture I was forming of Alice Brandon. "Well, I only brought two." I gestured to the pile outside the door to what must have been my room.

Alice tsked. "Trust Rose to have just left them there." She hopped neatly over them and barged through the door. I followed promptly behind her.

The room seemed to share the same kind of decor as the rest of the house, with the walls notably bare. Light streamed in from a glass-panelled set of double doors opening onto a balcony. On that side of the room, a plainly untouched double bed and an antique style wardrobe stood passively. On the opposite side, the wardrobe had been shoved over to make room for a large, stainless steel fridge. A polished metal tray on wheels rested beside the bed. Its surface was coated with a scrambled mess of bottles and test tubes of powders and liquids, what I recognised as a Bunsen burner, a water bath and various other surgical equipment, all interlaced with a shiny set of surgical tools. The double bed had been covered with a crisp white sheet instead of the gold pillows and matching duvet of the other.

A tall, angelically pretty girl, with her long blonde hair pulled back behind a surgeon's cap and her runway-worthy figure cloaked in a white lab coat, hovered over the bed wielding a wickedly sharp scalpel. And on the bed, there lay what was unmistakably a stiff, rotting dead body.

"Renee, I found your new room-mate." Alice announced. "Isabella Swan, meet Rosalie Hale. Rosalie Hale, Isabella Swan."

The stunning girl walked around the bed towards me, pulling off her plastic gloves.

"It's lovely to meet you!" She exclaimed. Her accent was charming, pleasantly upper-crust. She could have read audiobooks, or poetry.

"Hello." I said weakly. I couldn't quite look directly at her. Much of my attention was revolving around the corpse on her bed. Which I suppose made up for the fact no-one else was giving it any notice at all. "It's nice to meet you, too."

She smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "I've heard a lot about you, from Alice, of course."

"Of course." I agreed, not really hearing her. My vision swam and blurred. At this point, the corpse was the only thing in focus. "I'm sorry, I feel a bit odd. I faint at the sight of blood." I added as an explanation.

Rosalie turned and seemed to notice the dead body for the first time. "Oh, don't worry. It's dead, so it won't bleed. No heartbeat, you see."

"Ah." I said. There was a building pressure around my temples, and I concluded I was going to pass out around the same moment as the room went black.

R-POV

Alice, luckily, caught Isabella's head before it thudded off the floor. The girl made quite a dramatic picture, her dark hair falling back from her face, her head thrown back to showcase the beaded choker decorating her throat.

"Is she alright?" Alice fluttered, practically vibrating with the need to do something.

"She's fine." I said calmly. Someone needed to counterbalance Alice when she was in this kind of a mood. "Just lay her head down - gently!"

"I am being gentle!" She cried, her voice tearing through a whole octave on the last word. Yes, I was definitely dealing with hyperactive Alice today.

"She's fine." I repeated reassuringly. "It's only shock. She'll come around in a moment."

Alice relaxed marginally. "You're only supposed to do dissections in the lab, you know."

"I know." I scowled. "But McCarty was prowling around. He's always trying to get a look at my research."

The little pixie smirked. "Research, huh? Is that what the kids are calling it these days?"

My new room-mate displayed excellent timing by coming around and saving me from being caught without a witty retort. She tried to sit up and swooned. I crouched beside her, putting a supportive hand on her back.

"Sorry."She muttered almost inaubibly. Why was she apologising? Probably she was still disorientated.

"Just put your head between your knees." I advised her. She complied.

Alice was twitching on the spot. "Should I get her a glass of water?"

"I'm fine." Isabella answered, her voice much stronger. "Could you help me up, please?"

I took her hand and hauled her to her feet. She stood reasonably steadily.

"Are you sure you're alright?" I asked, concerned. She nodded quickly, her face colouring.

"I'm fine." She repeated. "Honestly. This happens a lot."

I raised my eyebrows. "Do you have a medical condition?"

"Nothing notable." Alice answered out of habit. That girl was like a teacher's pet, conditioned to raise her hand whenever a question was asked. "She suffered from mild asthma as a child, but never had to use an inhaler."

Isabella's gaze had strayed to the specimen and her wide hazel eyes were locked onto it. Her already pale face was turning dead white. I hastened to cover the thing on the bed with a sheet and Alice grabbed Isabella's hand.

"Come on, I'll introduce you to my room-mate." She said excitedly. Isabella seemed slightly confused by her exuberance. I pitied her. Alice's moods swings were far from the weirdest thing she'd have to get used to.

"She went out." I remembered suddenly.

Alice paused. "Out where?"

I lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "Couldn't say. I met her on her way out the door."

"While you were struggling in the door with here?"

I nodded, suppressing my grin. Isabella was looking increasingly bewildered. Alice's brow crinkled as she thought.

"Eureka! She's gone to the kitchens. She said she'd make cookies for the newbie - which is you, by the way." She said aside to Isabella, like it wasn't obvious.

"Wait one moment." I said, shedding my lab coat and cap. "I'm coming if there are cookies." I released my hair from the bobbin and followed a fleeing Alice and Isabella out the door.


End file.
